


Inspection

by Xaverri



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Confident Cullen, Dirty Sex, F/M, Fraternization, Inquisition Forces, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Swordplay, muddy sex, stormy sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-16
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-30 17:33:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3945592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xaverri/pseuds/Xaverri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by <a href="http://mellorianjart.tumblr.com/post/118967210328/and-the-2nd-prize-goes-to-lilith-winchester-site/">this gorgeous piece of fanart</a> by <a href="http://mellorianjart.tumblr.com/">mellorianjart</a>.</p><p>A recruit of the Inquisition's forces is getting private lessons by none other than the Commander himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This kinda got away from me. I just wanted to write a little drabble around [this steamy wet Cullen](http://mellorianjart.tumblr.com/post/118967210328/and-the-2nd-prize-goes-to-lilith-winchester-site/), a gift to a winner from Mellorianjart's give-away blog, and I somehow ended up with a lot of text. Too much to fit in one go so here you have the first part!

# Chapter 1

 

After the battle, everyone was stressed and restless.

Big clashes tended to do that to soldiers, especially when having faced horrors beyond imagination; the malformed red Templar army consisting of things that should never have existed. The sweltering heat of the Arbor Wilds also did not help matters, any form of exercise was doubly straining when armour clung unpleasantly and sweat gathered in unmentionable places. But what really topped the cake was that after the horrendous dragon had flown away, word came from the temple that the Inquisitor and his companions had disappeared. It left the entire Inquisition army in a confused and demotivated haze.

An anticlimactic ending to what should have been the finalization of the war.

The temple was under non-stop scrutiny, patrols were set up in a wide perimeter and the Knight-Captain himself had given a long speech meant to motivate the troops and to request vigilance until more was known. But even Rylen had seemed unsettled, words at times hesitant when he tried to lift the troops’ spirits with his cool Starkhaven accent.

So when recruit Kiley Cacheux’s morning patrol was over and she moved from the mess-tents towards the tent she shared with her squad there was nothing she wanted to do but clean off herself and her armour, then nap on her cot. Next to the prickly atmosphere already flowing about the camp, the building heat and humid air also held promise of a thunderstorm later in the day, making the midday sun extra pressing. Nonetheless, the storm would be welcome, even though it would turn camp and ground into a muddy mess. At least it would finally be _cool_.

Cat-calls broke through the clouds in her mind and against better judgement she turned her head to the source. Big mistake, of course. She was not fast enough to shrug it off in nonchalance. The trio of scouts jeered loudly when she clenched her jaw and sped up her step.

“What’s the rush, pretty? We just wanna have a chat.”

The sudden form of one of the men in front of her moved with her when she tried to go around him. Kiley felt her throat tighten in a mixture of panic and anger and she feinted to the right in an attempt to pass him on the left. Sadly enough the man had catlike reflexes and grabbed for her. She tried to jerk her upper arm from the grip, but it held fast.

“Aww, come on, don’t be a sourpuss. Why don’t you come join us for a drink? It’ll be fun, I promise. You’re new, aren’t you? There’s nothing wrong with getting to know your colleagues, no?”

With narrowed eyes she tried to mask the panic rising within her when the other two crept up on them, effectively surrounding and shielding her from view of any onlookers. This side of the camp was quiet as most troops were on duty but she was sure she could yell for help if needed. Still, she didn’t want to give them that pleasure of giving in to her fear when she was already struggling to build up her reputation as new recruit.

“Kindly get your hands off me,” she said, voice as calm as she could muster. He reeked of alcohol and dried-up sweat and it took every ounce of her resolve to not angle away from his intimidating stance.

“Oh-ooooh,” he veered back with a leery grin, “We’ve got a fiery one, boys!”

His cronies chuckled. His hold on her arm fastened, pulling her closer. The coil that had been tightening in her gut snapped and she threw her left fist out, the cracking noise a satisfying sound when it collided with Stinky’s nose. He stumbled back, eyes wide with indignant shock.

As if she was looking on from above, she felt the others move in and she spun quickly to challenge their grinning, smug faces.

Moments later, the chuckling had stopped. Courtesy of her fists connecting to their groins, which they were now clutching with pained groans from where they were lying on the ground. Stinky was still standing, wiping blood from his nose with a furious look.

"Orlesian bitch!

He swung his leg at her at the same time that she sprinted forward to shoulder him down. He fell, dragging her down with him and she saw red, all proper form of fighting was lost to them as they exchanged punches, kicks and head-butts where ever they could.

She was vaguely aware of shouting around them and suddenly strong hands yanked her off the man, yet she kept kicking and screaming until they had her in a deadlock. Her opponent was also dragged up, by none other than Knight-Captain Rylen himself.

Just, fucking, perfect.

"What in the Maker's name is going on here," Rylen fumed, and she realised struggling was futile; the arms keeping her from moving could've belonged to a golem judging from their strength.

"That bitch attacked us, no reason," Stinky spat, "We was just inviting her for a drink and she went mad like a Druffalo!"

His two friends nodded along, eager to put the blame on her. Another wave of anger coursed through her at the injustice and before she could stop herself she head-butted her captor, fully expecting him to release her so she could pummel Stinky to death.

The back of her head connected with his chin but this time the resounding crack came from her own skull, stars filled her eyes and Kiley had to bite her tongue in order to keep from yelling out in pain. Maker, the guy really was a golem!

"Will you keep still, recruit" his low voice seethed in her ear.

"See how she is, Commander? I'd lock her up for good, no good having such animals in your army, Ser."

All fight left her, body turning rigid from shock. As if her day couldn't get any worse; she just cracked her skull against the chin of Commander Cullen Rutherford, leader of all Inquisition's forces. A golem would’ve been the better option by far.

"Thank you, soldier, I'm perfectly capable of judging her myself. Knight-Captain, take the scout and his friends to their Spymaster for judgement. I'll take care of the recruit. Everybody else, scram. I'm sure you've got better things to do."

Only now did she notice the crowd that had formed, to add to her shame.

And that was that. After graduating at the Orlesian military academy, it had seemed like a perfectly good career choice to transfer to the newly formed Inquisition. Especially as her country’s civil war had been put to rest and there would be few new openings on the front. It had all been very promising the few weeks she had spent here; her drill-sergeants quickly discovering potential for the field and thus promoting her to fight in the battle of the Arbor Wilds. But now she had thrown away any chance for a solid career by letting the first idiot with a big mouth get to her, in front of the Commander and his Second of all people. It would be latrine duty for the rest of her life, or worse; dishonourable discharge.

Now that the adrenaline of the fight had left her body, it went lax. When everyone had filed out, she was surprised to hear a low chuckle from the Commander.

"If I let you go, will you try to attack me again?"

"No, Ser."

Voice meek, she felt like crying from shame, the pain in her head dizzying. He let go and took a step back, she slowly turned towards him with eyes cast down.

"Right, then. I want you to wash up and get some rest. Oh, but first have someone examine your head. That crack didn't sound all too healthy."

She looked up, eyes wide with shock at the kind tone. For a moment she was taken aback when the Commander wasn't anything like she had imagined from the stories she had heard. Instead of the grizzled, stern ex-Templar, hardened and aged by battle, stood a ruggedly handsome man with a boyish smirk and warm, golden eyes. Also; definitely not a golem.

He rubbed a hand across his chin, "That's a mightily hard head you have there."

Luckily that didn't require a reply as she felt quite overcome by it all. While she had her introduction to the Inquisition and they had explained all persons noteworthy, only the description of the Commander's _outfit_ had been correct, -especially the red and black-furred mantle was a dead give-away-, and she felt slightly peeved that no one had felt it necessary to prepare her for the utter gorgeousness of the man before her. Her head was pounding from it, and was she swooning?

He crossed his arms, peering down at her through narrowed eyes and she almost giggled when she noticed the scar on his very kissable lips. She nearly missed it when he started talking again.

"After that I want you to report to my tent and we will go over what happened here. Is that clear, recruit?"

She saluted smartly, wavering slightly from the movement. Maker, her entire head ached, and it was probably not a good thing that there were two Commanders, right?

"Recruit? Is everything alright?"

Oh he was definitely a keeper, all concerned frowns and warm eyes. She took a step to balance herself lest she faint in his arms just like one would read in a trashy novel.

But then she did just that.

 

\------

 

It was hours later when she found herself shuffling nervously in front of the Commander's tent. Healed and refreshed, yet feeling awful. The oppressive heat of midday had passed and as predicted, clouds had started to gather to announce the coming storm which perfectly reflected the situation she found herself in. If the fight had been the end of her career for the Inquisition, what had followed next would surely ruin her professional reputation across Thedas forever.

When she woke up at the surgeon's tent, the mage tending to her had taken great pleasure in explaining her exactly what had transpired. Yes, she had indeed fainted and yes, right into the Commander's arms. And luckily so, the mage reminded her, because apparently she really _had_ cracked her skull and had the Commander not rushed her right to the healers, she would've suffered some irreparable brain damage.

As if passing out in front of the Commander after a seedy brawl wasn't bad enough, she also had to endure the gossip and laughter of her fellow recruits that were happily re-enacting the whole scene with dramatic flourish upon her return to the tents. According to the rumour spreading, she had declared her love for him before being swept up and brought in to have her head checked for insanity.

A runner walking out of the tent shook her from her depressing thoughts.

"The Commander will see you now," the guard next to the entrance announced in a bored voice. She took a deep breath and stepped inside.

Lanterns were scattered around the spacious tent, most of them on the make-shift desk in the centre. They cast a bright glow on a pinned-down map of the area that covered most of the table, the rest of the surface filled with stacks of paper and various office supplies. A board stood upright in the corner, this one holding up a map of the entire known world. It was filled with coloured pins, drawn lines and notes, indicating troop movement and conquered areas. The Commander stood in front of it, quill in one hand and scratching his chin with the other, seemingly deep in thought. Not wanting to disturb his line of thought, she patiently waited, wondering again how it was possible that she'd got herself in such a mess that this man who had the weight of the whole war upon him, deemed it necessary to deal with her personally.

After a moment, he slowly drew a line from one area to another, scribbling some note next to it, then dropped the quill in an inkwell and turned towards her.

She sprang at attention, saluting, hoping it would show him her true professionalism instead of the shameful display of earlier that day.

"At ease," his voice was soft and she relaxed slightly.

He motioned to a chair across his desk and sat himself down as well. She sat, trying to keep her nerves under control and hoping he'd get over with it soon. More than anything she wanted to know what her options, if any at all, would be.

"The Inquisition owes you an apology, recruit Cacheux."

She hadn't expected that, she shot him a confused look.

He continued, leaning his elbows on the desk and weaving his fingers together, "I've taken the liberty to go over your file. You've only been with us for a month and this is absolutely not how I'd like anyone's first impression to be. Whilst you were healing, we've interrogated the three men that assaulted you and they have been punished accordingly. Not that Sister Leliana needed much conviction, mind you; anyone who dares to put blame on one person in a fight of three versus one would draw the same conclusion."

She could not believe her ears; they were letting her off?

"Next to that I'd like to apologise personally as well, I should've sensed your panicked state. The hold I had on you only intensified that which lead to our, err, unfortunate collision."

He grinned sheepishly. She blinked, did he just...? Maker, the man was basically apologising for his chin being in the way of her blind anger.

"That said," he leaned back in his chair, "I would also like to personally assess your skills as a warrior. Any female, and pardon me if that comes across sexist, able to nearly deck three trained scouts that swiftly is being severely overlooked. You have more potential than your personal file is already stating, I suspect. That is, if you want to stay with us after what happened?"

He noticed she needed a moment, and got up to pour them a drink. She took the mug he offered and didn't even realise it was wine until it was heating up her throat. Not only would she not get punished, he wanted to test her himself? She was confused; at the academy, any offence between troops was immediately dealt with swiftly and surely. Even if the men had acted like pigs, it still didn't justify her actions towards them.

"Permission to speak, Ser?"

"Of course."

"I'm sorry, I don't understand. Surely some punishment is in order? I could've handled that situation a lot better had I not been so blinded by my anger."

He shuffled about behind a screen and she turned on her chair, what was he doing? The light of one of the lanterns cast his shadow on the canvas and with a start she realised he was taking off his armour. She spun back so quickly she nearly fell off, heart suddenly in her throat.

“Well, yes,” he agreed, “But the Maker knows I’d be the first to admit to letting actions speak for me before diplomacy, despite best efforts of our Lady Ambassador.”

Sounds of belts, buckles and plating being removed stirred her imagination even though she tried her hardest not to. Clearly, the crack had not fully healed yet. She’d have to go see that mage again as soon as possible, if she could manage to get out of here with dignity intact. She gulped down her wine.

“In Orlais,” she squeaked, then scraped her throat and tried again, “In Orlais, they taught me that letting go of one’s composure was the worst one could do. To be calm and at inner peace at all times was the pursuit of every student because only then can one make the right decision in every situation.”

He laughed shortly from behind her, “I’m imagining not many of your tutors have ever stood face to face with a Pride Demon, or one of the abominable behemoths that we encountered a few days ago. Although I’d probably pay to see some stuck-up Orlesian nobles preach their self-control dangling up-side down from a giant’s claw. You can hide a lot behind those masks your countrymen covet but that sort of fear would be hard to cover up.”

He moved to stand in front of her, leaning back nonchalantly against his desk dressed in a simple outfit of grey breeches and a white tunic with the laces half-done. He grabbed his mug and drank slowly, throwing his head back to catch the last drops and it took every little bit of her willpower to not blatantly stare at the skin of his exposed throat where his Adam’s apple bobbed with every swallow. She could not help, however, trailing down his body and feeling her own react traitorously in appreciation to his fine form.

He placed the mug down and smirked at her, “Besides, you’re not in Orlais anymore. Welcome to the Inquisition, if you’ll have us?”

He could have offered her a dead mouse on a plate made of worms; at that point she’d accept anything from him with nothing but the utmost gratefulness.

He stared at her curiously; belatedly she figured it was because he was waiting for her to answer.

“Yes, Ser,” she replied finally, completely in awe of the charm-offensive he’d put her through, “Of course I will stay. To be honest; I expected you to throw me out of the Inquisition after today and I would like you to know that I’ve very much enjoyed my time here so far. Also, please accept my thanks for giving me the benefit of the doubt and also for carrying me to the healers earlier. I am so, so sorry about this whole mess.”

He smiled warmly at her blurted-out speech, waving dismissively at the excuse, “No harm done, recruit. I’m glad to hear you like it here. I don’t often get the time to talk to individual soldiers so thank you for showing me your side of this war. Now if only we could get some news on the Inquisitor and learn what the Void is going on here, then that would be greatly appreciated.”

She hid her smile behind her mug, emptying it with the last sips. It had actually been some good quality wine and she was almost sorry she hadn’t been able to fully enjoy it for all the distractions. Relief washed over her at noticing that against all odds her career was nowhere near destroyed. Quite the opposite, even.

He had moved behind his desk again, bending to pick up what turned out to be his sword and belt and strapped it on swiftly.

“Well,” he announced, “Are you ready, then?”

“Pardon me, Ser?”

“For your assessment?” The enthusiastic glint in his eye was unmistakeable and Maker help her, the butterflies she felt in her stomach at that look moreover.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this is getting longer than I thought, so I'm splitting it in half, don't worry, the next part will come within the hour. Enjoy and thanks for the comments/kudo's!  
> Again; Art of Cullen by the kind and fantastic [Mellorianj](http://mellorianjart.tumblr.com). Thank you for the inspiration and approval to use your art!

# Chapter 2

 

They had started on some light exercises, stretching and warming up muscles to counter the strain he would no doubt put upon her. A cool draft breezed through the tropical tree tops, a sure sign that the storm would be fast upon them, the wind much welcome as it cooled the air around them. Kiley had done a fine job, if she said so herself, ignoring the way the Commander’s muscles rolled from his stretches underneath the thin tunic and had finally been able to summon the calm focus that she’d been sorely lacking all day.

He put her through some simple stances and movements, nothing new or challenging yet, all basic forms that any recruit should be able to perform flawlessly. Apparently satisfied, his next step was shields and blocking. His attacks were measured jabs that she had to counter with shield or sword and slowly but surely she could feel him cranking up the strength and speed behind the slashes. Her heart surged at having this opportunity; it was clear from the way he was holding back that the ex-Templar was not just immensely powerful, but also fully in control of every manoeuvre he made.

Her arms started tingling from blocking the increased velocity of his attacks but she gritted through the pain, knowing that if there was ever a chance to prove she was worthy, it was now. So she ignored the sweat starting to drip down her back, and clenched her jaw, instead focussing on nothing but the man in front of her and trying to interpret his next attack.

When the first drops began to fall, he called a break. Her shield-arm instantly gave out and the shield clattered to the ground to her shame. Usually she was at an advantage when it came to sparring with swords and shields; being naturally left-handed confused a lot of recruits that were only trained to deal with right-handed opponents but it didn’t surprise her in the least to find out that the Commander had effortlessly adapted to the difference and was unrelenting in his attempts to break through her defences.

The increase of her breaths and heartrate was easily discernible and to be expected after this round. Much to her chagrin, the Commander, however, had hardly broken a sweat. His stamina was admirable, she observed while she massaged her arm; trying to get the feeling back into it. The recruit always thought she was as fit as feasible but this man was something else, clearly.

He handed her a skin of water which she accepted gratefully and gulped down the cool liquid, not caring that some of it spilled over and down her shirt as her countenance was beyond dishevelled already. The Commander studied her, golden eyes unreadable as they trailed over her form, no doubt finding flaw in her worn out state. She flushed, glad that they were alone and there were no fellow recruits to make fun of her later.

He had chosen one of the many open, secluded spaces that were found in the rainforests. A stream ran through it and it was on the bank that he’d drop the gear he brought for their session; a collection of swords and various shields. Massive rocks littered the bank, but there was a clear patch big enough for their scuffle.

The rain started falling in earnest now and she welcomed the cool drops on her heated skin.

“Alright, now that we’re sufficiently warmed up, let’s get to work,” her eyes went wide as saucers at his statement and she examined the serious look on his face, double-checking to make sure he really was not joking. He was not, and she stared at his back when he sauntered over to the gear and picked out two wooden training swords, absently noting the way his tunic clung to the hard muscles of his obscenely wide shoulders.

_Right, focus. Where was it?_

He threw one sword towards her making the muscles in her shield-arm scream at her when she caught it.

“You can drop your own sword for now. Later, when we are more accustomed to each other’s moves we can try sparring with sharpened blades but for now I don’t want you to hold back so we’re using these,” he tapped the wood lightly to his other hand.

She pushed away all thoughts of pain, exhaustion and tantalising smirks, opening herself up to the thrill of finally being allowed to attack and centred on that instead. Her own sword cast away, the wooden one was much lighter in her hand and she was pleased to find her left arm was still fully functional.

Tension rose in the air when he shifted, crouching slightly with sword ready for her attack. If the invitation wasn’t clear enough, the added smirk and jerk of his head was all she needed to push forward and feel the first tap of his sword blocking hers.

They moved back and forth in a dance as old as time, circling the other, looking for openings, quickly striking then jumping back to start once more. It was electrifying. He kept on the defence, allowing her to attack at her own initiative as she learned his moves and feints. To say he was good would be an understatement, she knew he was only showing part of his skill when she thought she had learned his reaction to a specific feint; when she tried to use it against him, pressing forward to strike at his back she once again found his sword blocking hers as he had moved it up over his head to guard his back faster than she could imagine.

It would have been frustrating if it hadn’t been so very, very liberating to finally have someone she could let go against. Judging from the way his scarred lip kept tugging up at the corner he was amused at least. She hoped she was pleasing him.

The ground turned increasingly muddy but that only added to the excitement as they started struggling to find their footing in the slippery substance. When the first lightning struck, it released something within her and she found herself increasing the speed of her attacks in desperation of striking true. It became her sole objective, the only thing she craved, to touch his skin with her sword and impress him. The animalistic drive coursed through her, panting wildly in time with her never-ending attacks.

She was able to press closer and closer each time until it happened; but it was a dirty move. Pushing hard against his sword, an exhilarating dead-lock where they locked eyes, her body moved on its own as one hand grabbed his shirt and yanked. Hard. He nearly slipped in the mud from the unexpected move, flailing wildly to gain his balance and she faintly registered a ripping sound but her sword coming down on his shoulder was all she focussed on, adrenaline racing through her at the victorious blow.

She jumped back, breath coming out in short puffs and unable to wipe the grin off her face until she realised what she had done. Cullen looked at her, one eyebrow raised in amused disbelief, one hand holding the shredded remains of his tunic where they hung off his shoulders.

“A bit of a cheat, but I’ll let it count,” he ripped the ruined piece of clothing off fully, discarding it in the mud, “At least you won’t be able to do that again, or must I start worrying for my breeches as well?”

“I’m so sorry,” she gasped, hand flying to her mouth. She could not, however, stop herself from tracing the rivulets of water running over his heaving chest, along the ripples of abdominal muscles and finally disappearing somewhere behind the belt of his breeches where they rode low on his hip. Her skin must’ve flushed an embarrassingly shade of red, for he smirked knowingly, rested his sword over his shoulder and beckoned her in the single most sexy pose she had ever seen.

_Maker, he’s your Commander! Get a grip, woman!_

She could not shake the feeling, however, that the fight left him equally excited. He looked the very picture of seduction; from the strands of blonde hair, falling boyishly over his forehead to the laid-back, sensual pose of his body. The bicep of his sword-arm bulged provocatively, making her wonder how she was ever going to keep up attacking adeptly if she couldn’t even bring herself to stop staring. Her focus had vanished, flown away on fluttery, butterfly-wings the minute his countenance had changed into something temptingly unprofessional.

Her hands shook when she brought up her sword, trying to calm her breathing and push away the fatigue once more but she was exhausted.

He noticed, of course, “How about I attack for a bit, before we call it a day?”

Even though her whole body protested against it, she nodded and gripped the hilt stubbornly. She would not give in so easily.

Cullen dashed forward, struck her blade once with such force that she could barely hold on to the weapon with both hands, then he spun around his axis and with another powerful strike knocked the wood easily out of her grip. He grabbed her arm and pulled her against him and before she knew it, her gasp was muffled by his lips when he forcefully kissed her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy the smut! This chapter is definitely NSFW and NSFCP (CP=Curious Parents). Also, according to some (1 person at least): NSFCK (not safe for curious kids), which seems like a valid tag to add.

# Chapter 3

 

Her hands wasted no time roaming the broad planes of his back and she moaned loudly when he dropped his sword, grabbed her ass and pressed her against his rapidly hardening length. His other hand delved in her short hair, shifting her head sideways as he willed so he could deepen the kiss, tongue sliding hotly along hers. The animal inside her had reawakened, purring wildly at the demanding man and she submitted more than willingly. The way he had so easily defeated her made her realise even more how skilled he was, and now with his mouth suckling confidently on her lips, making sparks shoot down her spine to in between her legs there was not one thought daring to linger on resisting him for whatever reason.

He chuckled darkly at her pliancy, moving his lips over her jawline, licking at the sweat and water there whilst trailing a path towards her earlobe. His skin was hot and moist beneath her fingers; she revelled in the feel of it beneath her roving hands, daring to move up to his drenched hair to scratch his scalp when he nibbled along the skin of her throat. She felt more than heard the growl that reverbed in his chest in reply to her caress and it set her body aflame.

When he dragged the hem of her shirt down so he could lick the top of her breasts she felt her knees weaken, when he started nipping the skin with his teeth she wailed, her breath turning into steam in the cooling rain.

Her nipples tightened from the rough palming of his hand and another hot spike coursed through her when she imagined his tongue licking them. She tugged her shirt up; he caught on quickly and helped her pull it off. Her arms got tangled in the cloth, him taking the opportunity to unfasten the band around her chest making her skin tingle in anticipation. As a soldier, her rather large breasts only got in the way trying to stuff them in the standard-issued armour so she always wrapped them up tightly, knowing from the few men she had bedded that some had been pleasantly surprised when they spilled out.

“Maker’s breath,” he gasped, before he dove in to grab one, and latch his mouth on the other. She was very sensitive there so when his lips sucked lightly on the puckered flesh, she was already trembling in ecstasy.

He licked his way up to her ear, “Do you feel what you’re doing to me, Kiley?”

The rock-hard erection pushing eagerly against her hip, mixed with his heated exhalation had her moaning in reply. She was glad that one of his arms kept her standing in a steel grip against his water-slicked chest, for the hand that was on her breast travelled down to undo the laces of her breeches and wasted no time to dive in her smalls to trace her soaking folds.

“You’re so wet for me,” his rough voice sent another shiver down her spine, “Tell me you want this.”

The plea sounded more like an order, but it was one she was more than happy to obey.

“Yes, Ser. Please, don’t stop,” she hardly recognised her own voice, had never before felt this enraptured. He leaned back to openly study her reactions to his careful ministrations. He circled her clit slowly at first, pressing slightly harder until the sensation became too much, too intense and she shifted away. Immediately, he eased up to a more satisfying caress and soon she was shaking against him from delightfully slow-building tension. His intense gaze connected with her eyes and did not waver. With a start she realised that he was learning how she needed to be touched at a ridiculously quick pace and once again she was blown away by his skill, taking control of her like the seasoned warrior he was.

He sped up, using two fingers to lightly rub the skin over her slicked nub, not bothered at all by the confined space within her smalls and clearly intent on getting her off just like this. Each circle of the pads of his fingertips had her unravelling more and more, her hands roaming over the taut muscles of his chest, shoulders and neck adding to her pleasure. To have this powerful man, the Commander himself, servicing her, a simple recruit… It all became too much and with racing heart and clenching thighs she held her breath for a moment, then let out a long, low, loud keen when his skilled fingers brought her to her peak.

Her legs gave out and she would have fallen in the mud if not for the steel cage of the Commander’s arms around her. Euphoria made her giggle and the intense moment broke when he grinned back at her, “What?”

“Oh, I just realised it’s the second time today that I’m falling apart in your arms. Must be my lucky day.”

He chuckled at that, then bent down to kiss her lightly. She was hyper-sensitive in the after-math; his kisses, soft as they were, evoked the fire between her legs to burn even more, craving to be filled by the hard length still pressing against her.

Suddenly, she veered back, “I mean… Ser. Must be my lucky day, _Ser_.”

All humour left his face, a flash of caution in his eyes. Kiley slapped herself internally; why did she have to bring that up? It had only been out of respect that she mentioned the honorific, unthinkingly bringing up the fact that what they were doing would be very much frowned upon.

“This is highly inappropriate,” he murmured, looking at her but miles away in his mind.

No, no, no, no, _NO!_ She wanted him _badly_ , she needed to find a way to salvage this. Quickly.

“Nobody needs to know,” she daringly trailed a finger along his collarbone, thinking she’d go mad if she didn’t even get to kiss that glorious skin for one bit. Her eyes gazed up to him through her lashes, drops of water hanging from them. She hoped it would have the desired effect as his face was tense, eyes near unreadable.

At least he still had his arms around her, unmoving and secure. Her breasts were pushed up against his pectoral muscles, trails of water from the continuous rainfall creating small rivers along her curves, disappearing down to where their clothed groins were still pressed against each other. The length of him was prominent and with what she hoped was a seductive smile, a bold idea entered her mind.

She knew that what she’d said would not convince him. It did not matter to him that no one knew; he was clearly battling himself instead. It was his discipline that she needed to break, a challenge that she simply _had_ to take on. After all, wasn’t it him who had said there was no shame in letting go?

Moving forward slightly, she let the steamed breath of her voice drift along his lips, “I thought you said I was not in Orlais anymore,” her tongue dipped in the hollow of his throat, feeling a small pang of victory when his breath hitched in response. Forcing her hand in between their bodies, she brazenly traced the outline of his deliciously hard length with her fingertips.

If she didn’t get him in her soon, she’d surely combust. Through the sharp dig of his fingertips in the soft skin of her sides she briefly entertained the thought of simply tackling him down and taking him like that but she knew that he would never allow it. He needed to be in control, and he would only be more adamant in pushing her off if she forced herself on him too much.

“I’m starting to learn it is okay to let my actions speak for me,” she breathed against his neck, emphasising this by squeezing the head of his erection through the fabric of his breeches, “But I might need another lesson, Ser.”

Nuzzling her way up, she sucked his bottom lip in between her own, pressing the flat of her palm against him, praying silently to Andraste for him to please, please give in. She was about to go nuts from the tension crackling between them, the burning within her folds intensifying. From his chest expanding rapidly underneath her unoccupied hand she knew he was deeply aggravated, but the wild look in his eyes gave away nothing and yet so much; he wanted her, but was it enough for his unshakable willpower to break?

Lightning struck, very close. With a jerk of his head he pulled his lip free and looked at her furiously.

“Call me Cullen.”

He shoved her off him and down she went; half-bare ass pressing down in the mud. Pain shot up her wrists from where she caught her fall but before she could shout at him from the indignity she was rendered mute from the view before her. Cullen loomed over her, swiftly undoing his belt and shoving down his breeches to his ankles. Dropping to his knees, he snagged the ends of her own breeches, pulling them down over her boots and casting them aside in some general direction.

She laid there in the mud, completely frozen from his sudden actions, her heart threatening to burst from her chest when he grabbed her legs and scooted her towards him, leaving her thighs to dangle over his own. She remembered to breathe when he shoved his smalls down, pulled out his length and pumped it languorously. His knees slid apart through the drenched dirt and with his other hand he moved her smalls aside to then slide the head of his cock along the folds of her soaking cunt.

Hysteria took over at the sensation of velvet steel rubbing her entrance, she was blabbering between heated exhalations, “Please, Cullen. Oh- please, please, take me-... I want you so much…”

His scarred lip pulled up in a snarl when he pushed himself inside her. Resolutely, he grabbed her hips to hold her still as he tried to fill her at an unhurried pace, again in full control of his motions. Tremors wrecked through her body from the rapturous way her slick walls stretched wide to accommodate his girth, making her back arch up from the heavenly pain.

“So tight…,” he groaned, “I can’t-, I have to…”

He started moving slowly, going ever deeper with each thrust forward. His hands would surely be leaving bruises the way he clenched her hips but she was past caring because the friction was exquisite and she whined along every push.

So here she was; being thoroughly fucked into the mud by her Commander in the middle of a thunderstorm. She’d had worse days.

She pawed at her breasts, pinching her nipples with careless abandon, wanting desperately to climb towards another peak. Her excitement spiked when she heard him panting above her, opening her eyes to see him looking back at her, eyes trailing down to where she was pleasuring herself. His lips were parted, water from the rain dripping down his nose and chin, blond hair, darkened and moist, plastered along his forehead even more than before.

He started pounding her in earnest, hands on her hips dragging her back against him in time with his thrusts, the movement eased along thanks to the slippery ground. Their wet skin slapped together, creating the most obscene noises to mix with their grunts and moans. When her left hand drifted down to toy with her nub, his breath audibly hitched. He stilled for a moment, enthralled with the way her fingers played along her folds above where he was buried deeply inside her. Then he moved his hands, trailing sensually over her stomach and thighs, then below them to grab her hips once more, pulling her up higher in his lap so only her shoulder blades touched the ground.

She had to bite her lip to stop from screaming out loud when he fucked her harder than she’d ever been fucked before. She hung helplessly in his arms, a victim to his plundering thrusts that went so deep they hit some sweet spots she didn’t even know she had. It only took a couple of flicks of her fingers over her engorged clit and she came howling, blinded by another lightning strike close to where they were tangled together.

He kept his pace, lengthening her orgasm by touching upon that perfect spot inside her, over and over until pure bliss flowed through her. Only then did his rhythm start to falter and she watched him come undone with hooded eyes. A couple more thrusts and he groaned out his completion, spurts of his cool semen spraying her heated walls deep inside her. A slice of gold locked with her, when he opened his eyes half-lidded, scar tugging upwards from his satisfied smirk. Slowly he lowered her into the cool mud, the feeling almost welcome on the hot skin of her back.

Her legs trembled from the strain when he eased back, and she was pleased to see his arms fare no better. Despite that, he leaned forward on his elbows and hovered above her minutely before bending down to place soft kisses on her lips. Butterflies swarmed through her at the affectionate gesture and she smiled into his kisses, countering with tender nips.

Cullen lifted up slightly and searched her face. She was dumbstruck by the open emotion that shone through his eyes where he had been so closed and reserved before. Yet she still had a hard time reading the meaning behind the look he gave her, only beginning to learn the many faces of the man behind the Commander.

Still smiling, he pushed himself up, dragging underwear and breeches up as he went.

“I assure you, this wasn’t quite what I had in mind.”

She accepted his offered hand to help pull herself up. To her credit, she only wavered slightly before she found her footing on the slippery ground. Her legs felt like the pudding she had for breakfast and there was mud in places she didn’t dare think of. All in all, she felt utterly debauched and sated.

“I believe you,” she simply said.

He dragged a hand along his face, eyeing their surroundings and their scattered, ruined clothing and groaned audibly, “Maker, what a mess. Go wash up, I’ll gather what’s salvageable so we can clean it up a bit.”

She shuffled carefully towards the stream and toed off her boots, wincing at the cold when her feet dipped in the running water. A million thoughts were racing through her head as she washed the mud off her body and hair, the ice cold water bringing her swiftly back to reality. The questions filtering through her were numerous, mainly centring on _now what?_ Would this truly be the end, then? There was no doubt that this sort of fraternisation would not be tolerated, and that could certainly mean only one thing; her career within the Inquisition was well and truly over. She was just a recruit, easily replaced if there was any risk of, pardon the pun, muddying the Commander’s reputation. And with the state she and Cullen were in, it would be as unquestionably as the Maker’s love for Andraste that everyone would realise what had happened.

He appeared next to her, sodden tunic, breaches and a sorry strip of fabric that was once her breastband clutched in his outstretched hand. She took it from him with a quiet _thank you_ , and bent down to clean as much dirt off as she could manage without a brush and soap.

Of course his breeches were not completely wasted, but his tunic was destroyed even though that had happened before… _Before_.

Regardless, it didn’t help their situation at all.

At last the rain seemed to diminish, and the sky cleared in that oddly swift way that was habitual to the tropical rainforest that were the Wilds. It had seemed an age ago that she walked back from her morning patrols, so she was rather surprised to see that there was still some light, the sky behind the dark clouds showing the reddish tint of sunset.

“Was I at least any good?”

He looked at her incredulously at which she laughed, “No, not that. I mean the sparring, the assessment.”

“Oh, that,” he rubbed his neck nervously, “From what I could tell, yes. Although we didn’t really manage to go through the full program. To be sure of where your true competence lies I would need to-… No, I can’t do this, this-…”

And there it was, the realisation dawning on his face surely marking the end of her time here. Her stomach dropped at her own foolishness, she should’ve been more valiant, less impulsive. Regret washed over her as she scrubbed furiously at the stains in her tunic. She guessed the Orlesians had the right idea, after all.

“I’ll make sure that you’ll be promoted to a squad where they can test you fully. I cannot conduct the required examination as my duties won’t allow me the time to give personal training, but from what I saw it would be a waste of potential if you stayed in your current division,” she looked at him in full surprise, studying his face and finding nothing but the earnest truth. Then he smirked, almost shyly, looking down at her, “Although I wouldn’t mind inspecting your skills, _privately_ , some other time. If you want me to, of course.”

She blinked slowly, mouth open and closing as she was lost for words. So it wasn’t the end after all?

To their horror, a melodic voice called out behind them, “Commander. One moment of your time, please?”

They turned together, towards the source, to see the Spymaster standing on the bank next to their training gear. Kiley felt a terrible sense of dread spreading through her once again. _Maker, will there ever be an end to this day?_

“Sister Leliana,” Cullen-. _No_ , the Commander, turned bright red, flush creeping all over his neck faster than the skies had cleared after the storm. He moved towards her and only now did Kiley notice the package when she handed it over to him.

“If I may be so bold; I suggest you and the recruit get dressed speedily and depart separately at your discretion,” her smile was far too knowingly, but there was an amused glint to her eyes. The Commander reached in the bag to pull out fresh, dry pieces of clothing for both of them, the sight more than welcome to Kiley. Relief overshadowed the embarrassment she felt at being caught like a pair of youngsters and she realising that if there was anyone they could trust with what had occurred, it was this woman.

“Sadly,” the Nightingale continued, “I had to call your professional skill assessment to a halt but it was with good reason. I bring news from the Inquisitor, and you would not believe where he is right now.”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me at [Tumblr.](http://xaverri.tumblr.com)


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